


Manhattan

by minnesotamemelord



Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr. & Amanda Rollins Friendship, Episode: s19e13 The Undiscovered Country, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lawyer Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., M/M, Manhattan, Memories, Oblivious Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Pining Rafael Barba, Post-Episode: s19e13 The Undiscovered Country, Pre-Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Rafael Barba Whump, Sad, Song: Manhattan, Sort Of, Sweet Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., just like really sad, like it's two in the morning and I no longer give a single fuck, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnesotamemelord/pseuds/minnesotamemelord
Summary: Everything looks so different now, and Carisi can't quite tell- is it his misery turning the city that he used to love flat and gray, or have the rose-colored glasses come off, and he's seeing the world for how it really is?Either way, one thing's for sure.Manhattan will still be there tomorrow.Rafael Barba won't.





	Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by "Manhattan" by Sara Bareilles. There's one line in the song that's remarkably similar to one of Barba's lines to Olivia at the end of the episode- "'Til black and white begin to color in/And I know/That holding us in place/Is simply fear of what's changed"  
> This isn't really a songfic, but I thought this song was very fitting. I hope you enjoy reading this, and I always appreciate comments and feedback! -C

What had once been a glimmering array of lights set against a solid backdrop, the skyline he had watched for years, changing as much as it did and yet, always the same, was now flat, gray, a mere shadow of what it had once been. Carisi pulled his coat tighter against himself and braced against the February cold that ate through him, into his very bones, in the way that made you feel like warmth was just a fantasy, too distant and outside the realm of possibility to even think about. He and Rollins had waited for hours, pacing the squad room, hardly exchanging a word or glance, waiting to see their friend a last time. And then Benson had returned, all alone, and with a single look, he knew what had happened. Barba was gone, and he hadn't bothered with a goodbye. But that was fine. Everything was perfectly okay, and Sonny Carisi was not on the verge of a breakdown.

Just kidding.

He stopped, shoving his hands in his pockets as he realized where he was. His subconscious must have led him here, to the last place he thought he'd go today. Usually, they went to Forlini's after a long day to drown their sorrows in middle-shelf whiskey, but when it was closed- which seemed like it was about once a week- they came here. It was lower quality, but it was cheap and they always played minor-league hockey on the TV, to everyone but Barba and Carisi's chagrin. He remembered their last visit- Tuesday a week earlier. Shitty whiskey, a River Rats game, a stack of case notes. All the hallmarks of a fun night. That, Carisi realized, was the last time he had seen Barba smile. Like, really smile. He was not a smiley person, Carisi had learned, so when he did, it was like the sun had been on dimmer mode the whole time and now it was on full brightness.

He might have stopped for a drink, had he been in the mood to see people and had it not been 2 in the afternoon. But he didn't. He just kept walking, pushing any thought of what might have been out of his head. Chaos blurred around him, crowds of people that had their own shit, their own problems to deal with. He had problems before this. His parents pushing him to get married. His job, which took a heavier toll on him than he used to think. He basically didn't have friends he didn't work with. His world kept crumpling, shrinking, until everything was an empty space, devoid of light or joy or anything that even resembled life as it was supposed to be, until the only thing left was SVU. It had been tolerable. He told himself, "One day, I'll take that ADA job. Or fuck it, maybe I'll go teach or something. Get away from this." But he never quit. He came into work every day, sat down at his desk, and listened to people recount the worst moments of their lives, over and over and over again until they ran together into a revolting tapestry of pain and loss and suffering. But every day, for an hour or two, he got to watch Barba as he talked to victims, or as he went over a case, or even just as he sat at the conference table, his feet kicked up on the table as they always were, scribbling notes in silence. He was nothing short of magical, the way he seemed to pull words out of thin air and turn them into weapons, sharp and ready to go in for the kill.

And yet, his sharp tongue and acerbic demeanor were just a facade, covering up all of his complexities and depths. Carisi hadn't seen them often, but one time stood out to him in particular as he remembered. He had only been in Manhattan for six months when Barba's grandmother died. Benson had tried to drag him and Rollins and Fin to the funeral, but they had declined. It wasn't like they were good friends, and he hadn't met Barba's family anyway so what was even the point? He and Rollins did show up to the wake, but only because Benson had promised they wouldn't work a night shift for a month. So there they were, standing around awkwardly in a walk-up apartment in the South Bronx, as crying Cubans in black milled around them. Eventually, Rollins went home. He didn't. He hadn't seen Barba yet, and it felt weird to leave before they talked. Or something like that. He found Barba in the back hall, nursing a rum and coke. He looked up when Carisi came in, ducking his head under the low ceiling. Before he could get out a single word, Barba was crying, sobbing really. He dropped to the floor, his legs stretching out across the hall. Carisi sat down next to him, sliding a long arm around his shoulders. That was how Barba’s mother found them hours later, after everyone had gone home, curled up on the floor. 

That was the first and only time he had ever seen Barba cry. Not even when he was on trial for murder. His tough exterior was just a shield, a suit of armor that protected him and what was underneath. He cared about the law, he cared about his friends, and the victims he fought for, but there was nothing he cared about more than his family. Carisi understood that. Their families might have been very different, they might have had different relationships, but it was there. One common thread among all the separate ones.

He now found himself standing on the steps of the Supreme Court, staring up at the gray marble monument before him. Once upon a time, that building had left him awestruck, a testament to the pioneers that had come before him. Now, all he could see were the flaws, the laws that hurt victims and let dangerous criminals free in the world, that disproportionately affected minorities, that made people believe that a man who mercifully ended a child’s suffering was guilty of murder. 

They had walked those halls countless times, trading notes and sarcastic quips. He had bought Carisi coffee at the Starbucks down the street (he had a bad habit of forgetting his wallet). They had spent hours in that courtroom, Carisi watching as Barba tore witnesses limb from limb, a spectacular explosion of well-timed jabs and dodges. The last time he had been there was when he was on trial. Something about that, knowing that the last time he had been in the place he loved was when the system was trying to destroy him, to break him, it pulled at Carisi like a rope knotted in his chest. He turned away from the courthouse, feeling worse than he had before. He just had one last stop to make.

1 Hogan Place hadn’t changed. It had only been a day, so that made sense, but it still felt wrong. So much had changed, it didn’t make sense that the world wouldn’t change to match. The people inside, the other ADAs, were quieter than normal. On the far end, Carisi could see Carmen stacking boxes on her desk. She smiled softly when she saw him.

”He’s not here.”

”I know.”

”They’re giving Stone his old office.” She sighed. “He hasn’t even been gone a day, and they’re already pretending nothing happened.” Carmen put the lid on the last box. “I’m just packing up the last of his files.” She reached behind the stacks and pulled out another box, which was near-empty. “He took most of his stuff with him, but he left this. He wanted you to have it.” Inside the box was a single upside-down picture frame.

”I didn’t think he had any photos on his desk.”

”He kept them in a drawer. I don’t think he wanted anyone to know he had a heart.” For the first time that day, Carisi smiled, and he turned the frame over in his hands, sucking in a little breath when he saw the photo. He hardly even remembered it being taken. It had been his birthday, maybe six months ago, and they were at the bar. He was buying, and the drinks kept flowing long after Rollins and Benson and Fin had left. He had asked the bartender to take the photo, which was of the two of them, raising their glasses in a toast, scrunched together in a red vinyl booth- the booth where they had shared drinks and advice and one or two or ten drunken kisses. He flipped the photo back over and popped the back of the frame off, pausing when he saw something written on it, two small words in Barba’s indecipherable chicken scratch:

_I’m sorry_

He plucked the photo out, folded it in half, and tucked it into his pocket, handing the frame back to Carmen.

”Oh! One other thing.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I overheard him on the phone with Mr. McCoy the other day. He recommended that you replace him. McCoy’s going to offer it to you. It’s yours if you want it.”

”Thanks, Carmen.” He didn’t respond about the job. He wasn’t going to take it. He couldn’t take it. Not now. 

After seeing the picture, he finally understood why he left and why he didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t the bullshit people usually said it was, something about that making it too hard to leave. It was the opposite. He had to make it hard for himself to leave. He was punishing himself somehow, for something. But he didn’t deserve to be punished. As Carisi left the building, photo still tucked over his heart, he pulled out his phone, dialing the familiar number.

”Please pick up, please pick up, please pick-“ He picked up halfway through the second ring.

”Carisi.” His voice was soft, tinged with cool sadness. “What’s up?”

”’What’s up?’ That’s all you have to say?” He laughed bitterly.

”I’m sorry.”

”I know. I saw.” He walked in silence, listening to the soft crackle of Barba’s breathing through the phone. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that they were walking side by side. “So... you’re going?”

”Yeah.”

”Where?”

”Not sure yet. I was thinking Miami. Or DC. Maybe Texas, working with illegal immigrants.”

”Those are... pretty far.” 

“I know.”

”So you were just-“ Carisi sniffed. There were tears in his eyes, which he hadn’t even noticed until now. He wondered how long they had been there. “-going to leave? Just like that?” Barba didn’t answer for a moment.

”I can’t stay here, Sonny. Not even for Liv.” He paused. “Or you.”

“I know, Rafael. But, um, can I see you? Just once before you go?” He could almost hear Barba’s hesitation.

”Are you sure you want to see me? I was on trial for murder yesterday-“

”You were acquitted! And I never thought you were guilty. You did what was right even though the law said you were wrong. And that’s what I like about you.”

”You sound like a seventh grader, Carisi.”

”I can’t help it. Being around you makes me feel like a seventh grader.” Barba went silent for a moment.

”When I get settled, I don’t know, wherever I am... I’d like it if you came to visit me.” Carisi laughed, brushing the tears that had finally begun to fall off of his cheeks.

”Sure. I’ve been meaning to see Miami. Or DC, or Texas or wherever.”

”Meet me at Lucky’s.” Lucky’s was the aforementioned bar, the one they went to whenever their usual place was closed. “The River Rats play tonight. I’ll buy.”

”I’ll see you in twenty.” Carisi hung up and pocketed his phone. He looked up at the sky, formerly gray and flat, now full of depth and color and vibrancy. Maybe they wouldn’t have Manhattan anymore, but that didn’t mean everything they had was gone. It moved, it changed, it dipped and turned. But it was far from gone. 

He turned the corner and saw Schmidt’s Coffee Cart, the one Barba had once called New York’s best coffee. Barba might have been leaving the city, but he had left his fingerprints all over it, marking places and people and objects. That was his legacy. Not a murder trial, not an elite squad, not the hundreds of cases he’d won. It was this city, his home, the one he had given his everything for, the one that would hold everything he left behind. Carisi might not have had him, but he had Manhattan. And that was enough.


End file.
